Sander Cedee

The inside-outsider is an insider and an outsider at the same time. He wanders about the city he lives in, being a part of its community, while being an anonymus infiltrator at the same time. He goes through that city as through a layered network of pressure tanks and quarantaine capsules, each with their own access codes and rules of conduct. The spaces in and between buildings create that network of nests. They are part of a growing rampant organism. The walls, windows and objects in it, they take over. At that moment he realizes that he lives in that organism, that he is wandering inside himself. He is the sick building, the nervous drawing room, the congested corridor, the psychotic bathroom. He is the audience inside the theatre looking at himself. He shivers while he hears the deep neverending moaning of the ventilation shaft, while the juice runs through the vanes behind the walls.

While painting within the confined space of the canvas, I construct parts of his plan, as an Architecture of the Mind, and, if things work out, I concentrate and forget about all the things mentioned above. In the end, they are just paintings and drawings that can be nailed on a wall.

Level -1 / minus one (2009-2011)

I'm afraid we're out of Waldorfs (2009)

I've lost my blanket (2008-2009)

Sander Cedee

Artist Bio / Statement

The Architecture of Mind

The inside-outsider is an insider and an outsider at the same time. He wanders about the city he lives in, being a part of its community, while being an anonymus infiltrator at the same time. He goes through that city as through a layered network of pressure tanks and quarantaine capsules, each with their own access codes and rules of conduct. The spaces in and between buildings create that network of nests. They are part of a growing rampant organism. The walls, windows and objects in it, they take over. At that moment he realizes that he lives in that organism, that he is wandering inside himself. He is the sick building, the nervous drawing room, the congested corridor, the psychotic bathroom. He is the audience inside the theatre looking at himself. He shivers while he hears the deep neverending moaning of the ventilation shaft, while the juice runs through the vanes behind the walls.

While painting within the confined space of the canvas, I construct parts of his plan, as an Architecture of the Mind, and, if things work out, I concentrate and forget about all the things mentioned above. In the end, they are just paintings and drawings that can be nailed on a wall.

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